


Party of Six

by Niobium



Series: Avengers Team fics [2]
Category: Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Avengers Family, Dinner, F/M, Food, Gen, Remix, Team Bonding, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-29
Updated: 2014-01-29
Packaged: 2018-01-10 12:21:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1159705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Niobium/pseuds/Niobium
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Saving the world (or various parts of it) is hungry work. Or, It all starts with the shawarma.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Party of Six

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Enk](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Enk/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Diners, Drive-ins, and Dives](https://archiveofourown.org/works/569101) by [Enk](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Enk/pseuds/Enk). 



> When I saw this picture, I knew I had to write something about it. I love the concept of 'Avengers team-bonding over food' and can't get enough of it. 
> 
> Although I tagged it for ‘graphic violence’, there’s really just one spot describing some icky injuries, nothing extensive.
> 
> Tony-centric. The Thor/Jane and Pepper/Tony are blink-and-you'll-miss-it.

***

It all starts with the shawarma, though it will be a year before Tony will admit that. In the mean time he insists that after all future epic battles (” _What_ future epic battles?” Banner asks) they’ll find a nice place, make a reservation, clean up, and go eat there like normal people. Except Thor, who radiates abnormality, and in his case they’ll have to make due with a dress shirt and some slacks.

But after they put down the crazy engineer’s fleet of misshapen robots (which he built out of zeal and re-purposed junk gathered via dumpster diving at Sony Japan for six years) in Los Angeles, no one has the brain power to get presentable, much less look up a nice place for dinner. Tony flat out refuses to subject himself to the ‘food’ S.H.I.E.L.D. has on offer, so they limp around in the only van Hill can spare them, which is in such terrible shape it gets them pulled over twice. Fortunately the second pair of officers are more helpful than the first, and point them to a quiet little taquería that’s survived the chaos by being tucked into the corner of a sleepy neighborhood lined with palm trees and oleander hedges. 

“Who’s ordering?” Banner asks as they scan their menus. The proprietors are watching them with shrewd curiosity from behind the counter. There are no other customers, and Tony wonders if their arrival has thwarted an early closing.

“I will,” Barton says. He winces against some injury or another as he eases out of his seat on the bench. “I’ve still got a company card from my last mission. What are we thinking, six of everything?”

Banner says, “Get extra fish tacos.”

“And a few baskets of chips,” Rogers says. “And some churros.” 

Thor sets his menu aside and shakes his head when Barton raises his eyebrows at him. “I will trust your judgment.”

Tony murmurs, “Brave,” under his breath, and though Barton doesn’t hear him, Romanoff ‘accidentally’ knees him in the side as she slips off the bench. 

She says, “I’ll get salsa,” and her expression clarifies, ‘for everyone who isn’t Tony Stark’. (Sure enough, he has to go get a cup of his own, though that’s not such a bad thing because the salsa bar is extensive and begs for personal experimentation.)

As Barton heads for the counter, Tony calls after him, “Try not to blow too far past the per diem, Pepper doesn’t need the paperwork.”

They wind up with a dozen trays crowded with tacos of every stripe, as well as rice, black and refried beans, two heaping bowls of fresh guacamole, and a motley collection of drinks: a pitcher of horchata, some bottles of sangria soda, a few Coronas, and a pair of Mexican Cokes (Banner snags one the moment it’s within reach; Barton and Romanoff thumb wrestle for the other). The churros follow shortly after in a basket with some whipped cream on the side. For all that it’s simple the meal is delicious and filling, and the establishment is comfortable. It’s decorated with old Mexican movie nostalgia and Fifties-era tables and chairs in chrome and Formica, and there’s a working jukebox of Latin American pop stars which Banner makes excellent use of. Tony’s disappointed when he can’t convince them to move to New York, but he leaves his business card with ‘if you ever change your minds’ scribbled on the back. 

Thor, in a display Tony would not have thought possible, teases the recipe for horchata out of the hostess, who blushes at him the whole time. 

”How is he doing that?” Tony asks Barton and Banner. “I couldn’t get a word out of her. Only the sons would talk to me.”

Barton shrugs. “Language magic has to be good for something, I guess. Anyways, isn’t he royalty where he’s from? I bet they made him go to charm school, or whatever.”

With a sideways glance for the two of them, Banner says, “I really doubt they sent him to charm school.” He goes back to watching Thor converse with the owners. “That right there is not something you can teach. He’s just like that.”

Barton rolls his eyes. Tony snags a copy of the recipe from Thor for the Tower; Pepper’s always wanting more non-alcoholic beverages around which aren’t also soda, and since those are two of the only things Tony drinks (aside from coffee which is not brewed by Thor) he’s often at a loss for ideas. So it’s not a total waste, between the recipe and somewhere to put down for future trips to LA, and he tells himself next time dinner will work out.

***

‘Next time’ is some guys who try to flood half of the Netherlands out of existence by sabotaging the Delta Works storm barriers during the worst storm tide to kick up out of the North Sea in recorded history. Managing the culprits, the damage to the barriers and their controls, the water, and the rescue operation for the civilians takes days, and they all get little to no sleep for the duration. Rogers, Romanoff and Barton almost drown bringing in the cell’s leader, who sees himself as some sort of modern-day redeemer who needs to purge his home country of whatever he feels is out of place. This list is, it turns out, ever-evolving and wholly arbitrary, but regardless of its content he’s sure a lot of seawater will do the trick. 

Tony and Banner are on dam detail, and spend a day just sorting out what’s been done to the various mechanical and computer systems before they get to the actual work of fixing them so the barrier doors will close. Thor is airborne nearly the entire time, trying to lessen the impact of the weather without creating more chaos elsewhere (something he says is a problem with big storms, and Tony takes him at his word). When he lands, he resembles an abominable snowman wielding a comet, what with the thick film of ice coating his armor, beard, and hair, and the jagged icicles spreading down from the hammer’s head.

Thus, they’re not feeling picky when it becomes clear they’re done, and once he’s thawed Thor talks to numerous locals who are grateful and give them a wide variety of suggestions. In the end, Rogers—the only one of them who’s been to the Netherlands before, it turns out—picks a place from the suggestions: a café in Amsterdam specializing in pannenkoeken. They taste good enough and come with enough protein options that Tony figures he can let the fact that they’re basically eating gigantic pancakes for their post-disaster-averted meal slide just this once. 

Banner eats almost as many as Thor. As he digs into his last (which is laden down with bananas, whipped cream, hazelnuts, and chocolate), he catches the incredulous look Barton is giving him, and says, “I just spent over twenty-four hours helping close the Eastern Scheldt storm barrier with my bare hands. I’m owed.”

It’s Rogers who secures a recipe this time, sweet-talking the young men at the grill. They’ve all been conversing in excited whispers and murmurs and stealing clandestine glances, so when Rogers approaches them their awestruck terror is as adorable as it is comical.

“Unbelievable,” Tony asides to Romanoff. “Completely shameless. He’s as bad as Thor.”

Romanoff gives him an amused smile. “What, you’re surprised? I bet in the Forties there was a trail of broken hearts all through Europe labeled ‘Steve Rogers was here’.”

Tony coughs a laugh. “No doubt.” He throws the café into his contact list and holds out hope for the future.

***

In their future is a Sonic drive-in, and it proves to be an underwhelming experience. Phoenix, Arizona is no longer under threat of becoming a barren, radioactive ghost town, and the miles-wide dust storm that Thor summoned to help them out has subsided, leaving the streets quiet and muted in its aftermath. They wind up there, Tony thinks, because the red neon sign stands out in the gathering twilight.

One of the field scientists S.H.I.E.L.D. brought in to help insists in his Scottish accent that the onion rings and shakes and chicken tenders and sandwiches are all very acceptable, but no one cares enough to agree or disagree. It’s just something they’re eating because they know they should. They’re caked with sand and grit and crammed into two S.H.I.E.L.D. SUVs and emotionally threadbare in a way which food can’t address. None of which is the burger joint’s fault, of course.

Tony tries to pick more than a few fights, because if there’s something he can’t handle it’s being denied a chance to bring righteous anger down on the heads of the deserving. In this case, those heads belong to a group of disgruntled, crazy, ex-S.H.I.E.L.D. personnel with the skills and know-how to steal three neutron bombs from the US military and the insanity to try to use them against the sixth largest city in the nation. But as soon as the situation is under control the black helicopters cart them off to whatever fate awaits people who’ve made Nick Fury look like a punk, robbing all of them of anything remotely resembling closure, and this time a punishment devised by Nick Fury isn’t going to be enough for Tony. (Maybe nothing is.)

He’s almost successful at getting into it with Rogers on the flight to the Hub, then Thor steps between them, and they’re forced apart by the mountain which has appeared in their midst. Thor and Rogers have mastered some form of nonverbal communication that Tony still can’t crack, and after a handful of breathless seconds of it, Rogers turns away. He goes to sit with Romanoff and Barton and Wilson, who are working together to clean sand out of Wilson’s pack and wings. After a few low words with them he gets to helping out.

“Hey!” Tony snaps. Thor faces him, conveniently blocking any line of sight to Rogers at the same time. He looks not the least bit concerned over what he’s just broken up, and this eggs Tony on more than Rogers’ dwindling patience had. Tony grits his teeth. “I don’t know how they do things in space, but here on Earth you don’t just butt in when people are having a conversation.”

“Had you been merely having a conversation, I would not have done it.”

Thor’s bearing has an undercurrent of weariness that goes a lot deeper than just a little magical exertion. Tony remembers the contingency Rogers had suggested to Thor when it looked like they really weren’t going to succeed in disabling the devices, and that memory gives him pause. 

Banner’s voice just behind him jars him out of his anger. “Come on, Tony. We’ll debrief when we’re at the base.”

He doesn’t move, though, just keeps watching Thor, and Thor’s eyes don’t leave his. He understands, then, that everyone’s feeling this way; Thor is probably bottling up a hurricane the size of a continent for all of their sakes, Banner is no doubt grappling with something similar, and Rogers and Barton and Romanoff and Wilson may have seen it all before but that can’t make it any easier. 

And here he is, doing his level best to take it out on anyone he can. 

He swallows against a wave of nausea and looks at the floor. “Right.” 

Banner pulls him back from the implacable barrier that is Thor and into a seat. Later Tony and Rogers have an actual conversation with inside voices rather than accusations and short fuses. Later still, when the debriefings are done, he apologizes to Thor, who nods and puts a hand on his shoulder and says nothing.

He cancels the dinner reservation he’d made once they’re headed back to New York. Pepper doesn’t ask why, she just tells him she’ll wait up. Thor doesn’t join them on the flight; Foster and Selvig are in Chile at ALMA, and after a few private words with Rogers he’s lost to sight over the southern horizon with a speed that would give the suit a run for its money. Tony wonders if the morning news will bring reports of strange storms tracking a path from the United States all the way to the Atacama desert.

On his way to the penthouse suite he sees Rogers, Wilson, Barton, Banner, and Romanoff gathered in the kitchen, trading stories over drinks and ice cream in a ritual as old as the hills. They look a lot more relaxed than earlier in the evening, especially Rogers. Tony pauses in the hall, wondering if he and Pepper should join them, and Romanoff catches sight of him. The rest of them don’t seem the notice when she tips her head in the direction he was going, and after a second of hesitation he nods an acknowledgment and escapes down the hall. He and Pepper make plans for just the two of them, and he leaves it at that this time.

***

The greasy spoon they put into in Miami is tolerable, and has the added benefit of being removed from the chaos that the mutated crustacean beasts made out of Spring Break. Fury’s told them to stick around in case more emerge, and they’re too hungry to wait for the unknown time in the future when the all-clear will go out. The waitress is a little put out by the way some of Thor and Rogers’ injuries have oozed through the S.H.I.E.L.D. general-issue sweats they’re sporting, and between the six of them they clean the place out of coffee, french fries, and key lime pie, and make a serious dent in the country fried steak, barbecue ribs, and grilled chicken.

It’s not often Thor or Rogers get roughed up in any significant way, and if Tony had ever been asked to make a prediction, mutant shrimp-crab-lobster things the size of tanks and submarines wouldn’t have been in the top ten. Maybe not even on the list. Rogers’ beating mostly amounts to severe bruising, a variety of cuts, and one good, long, diagonal slice along his back that somehow didn’t sever his spine; Thor has some broken ribs, a hole in one leg where an angry shrimp-beast skewered him (already half-healed), and a compound fracture in one arm.

Banner ambushes Tony while he’s paying for the bill at the counter. “This is exactly what I’ve been talking about.” 

Tony is only half paying attention. He taps the waitress’ pen against the receipt as he thinks on more pressing matters. “How big of a tip do you leave for aliens with oozing wounds? Is that enough to kick it up to thirty percent?”

“Seriously—we need to take a closer look at what the Tesseract did down there.” 

When Tony doesn’t respond, Banner slaps his hand over the credit card slip, silencing the pen. Tony looks at him, and Banner says, “You know that has to be what did this. Have we ever seen Thor with so much as a scratch from anything less?”

“Aside from the Big Guy?”

Banner doesn’t seem amused. Tony looks over at Thor and Rogers, and Banner follows suit. They’re chatting companionably, yet Tony can’t miss the way Rogers’ movements are abbreviated and careful, and Thor is subdued in a way he hasn’t been since Phoenix. Tony has it from Jane that Thor took an epic beating from the whole Greenwich fiasco, and Thor indicated the weapon that had been in use there was an object similar to the Tesseract, so it’s reasonable to assume anything that can harm him is several orders of magnitude off the usual scales.

Banner says, “If that had been you, or Clint, or Natasha, at best you’d be missing a leg now.”

Tony has been trying to _not_ think about that, especially with the way the fried chicken is sitting in his stomach like lead. Still, the Seafood Medley Gone Wild has proven Banner right in the worst possible way, and since it was Tony’s father who fished up the Tesseract in the first place he considers himself personally invested. If the effect is this profound as far as the southern Atlantic, they have a serious problem on their hands, and they have to get in front of it as quickly as possible.

“We’ll corner Fury next week, see what we can get him to agree to.”

Banner relaxes and moves his hand. He examines the receipt, takes the pen from Tony, and drops a one in front of the tip. 

Tony frowns at the new, four-figure number. “Really?”

“Would _you _want to clean alien blood off the upholstery for a thirty percent tip and less than minimum wage?”__

Tony sighs and signs the receipt. They settle back in, because Romanoff and Thor aren’t quite done with their dessert and coffee.

The sight of Barton helping Thor get a plate of pie situated around his slung arm (which is fully healed by the time they’re back at the Tower, and Tony _isn’t jealous_ about that) comes back to Tony weeks later as he sits in a chair in a hospital room and watches monitoring equipment tell him that nothing about Barton’s condition has changed.

They were actually going to go out somewhere nice this time, like really go. They were going to wear their evening out clothes and eat amazing food after a hard day’s work like regular people did. They were going to talk about science or magic or guns or being spies or the weather or metal fatigue or the quality of the wine, not all of which are topics of dinner conversation for normal people, but Tony can make some exceptions for the sake of a good meal with his friends. No one was going to notice that an alien and Iron Man and Captain America were having dinner with two assassins and one of the most brilliant scientists on the planet. They were going to have an evening out.

That hadn’t been the original plan. Once Mombasa was no longer burning to the ground under the rampage of what Thor said he was sure were fire elementals from some place with a name starting with ‘M’, they’d armed themselves with suggestions for where to find good nyama choma (which Thor was particularly interested in because apparently nyama choma can involve goat meat and goat is a thing for him). But Fury wanted them all back stateside immediately, so they stowed the list for a future (hopefully destruction-free) trip and took their rest on the flight, which was long and uneventful. Thinking to seize the opportunity, Tony made a reservation at the new, five star Japanese place he’d been reading about and ordered everyone to shower as soon as they could escape their interrogators. They would be back in New York just in time to miss the dinner rush and find the restaurant mostly to themselves.

And one last fire elemental, which followed them all the way from Mombasa, slammed into the S.H.I.E.L.D. facility just after they’d landed, reducing half of it to rubble in the blink of an eye. Thor and Banner and Rogers had it under control in a manner of minutes—the force of the impact spent a good deal of the thing’s power, and it was much smaller than the others had been—but the damage was done. Over twenty people dead and dozens more wounded, including Barton and Romanoff.

Romanoff was lucky; she’d been under a portion of the superstructure that withstood the blast. Bruises, cuts, and an injury to her wrist which is probably not a break. Barton, much less so. Tony dug him out with Banner’s help and put him on a medevac, then sped to the hospital once the rescue operation had enough hands and declared him redundant. Barton was in surgery when Tony arrived, though out and in recovery by the time Tony had the suit stowed.

The others trickle in. Romanoff is first. Her injuries weren’t severe enough to warrant being flown out, but she’s hitched a ride with the S.H.I.E.L.D. doctors who’ve shown up to keep things under wraps. Banner next. He changes and starts helping the S.H.I.E.L.D. personnel with the stranger burns from the elemental’s magic fire. Thor and Rogers last, because they stayed until everyone was accounted for in one way or another (and, Tony suspects, until Fury kicked them out).

They take turns keeping an eye on Barton. Everyone manages a shower eventually. It’s been three hours and Tony is up again when Romanoff joins him.

“You alright?” he asks, and she holds up her wrapped wrist. “Sprain?” She nods, and Tony heaves a sigh. Eventually, he says, “We got lucky.”

Her gaze moves to Barton. “Mostly.”

Tony makes a low sound of agreement. Romanoff leans against the wall and says, “Banner’s not sure when he’ll wake up.”

“We eating here, then?” 

Barton’s voice is soft and raspy. “I’m not eating any of the crap they serve here.”

Tony startles and sits up in the chair. Romanoff’s only reaction is visible relief. Tony’s sure he sees Barton manage a smile of _Gotcha_ around the bruising, which irritates him, so he says, “I’m pretty sure you won’t get a vote.” 

“Fascists,” Barton mutters. He can’t seem to keep the mood up, and closes his eyes for a spell. Romanoff says something about finding Banner and ducks out.

Barton opens his eyes again. “Was it another one of those things?”

“Yeah. We think it tailed us from Kenya.”

“Fantastic. We sure that was the last one?”

Tony rubs at his eyes. “Not 100%. Banner and I are going to see if we can come up with a way to scan for them.”

Barton nods and looks down at the bed. “How many?” His voice is low.

“Twenty-two.”

Barton sighs and shifts his attention to the window, where the city gleams in the dark. “Christ.” He’s no doubt adding these people to the one hundred and six in Mombasa, and all of them to the mental tally he and Romanoff keep of everyone they couldn’t save in an ugly reminder of how brutal their lives are.

They sit in silence for several minutes. Just when Barton seems about to say more Banner comes in with a tablet to hand and the others in tow, and Tony is secretly relieved. He doesn’t want to talk about how this is, in all likelihood, what it’s going to be like from now on: that they will hope to save everyone and come away from encounters more or less intact, while knowing that neither of those things is likely to be the case all the time, probably not even most of the time. 

Banner scans the charts and tables on the tablet and checks each machine. Tony asks, “So. What’s he allowed to eat?”

“Something plain,” Banner says, and pulls out a pencil-sized light. Barton submits to Banner’s examination of his eyes with a grimace.

“Soup?” He sounds hopeful. 

Banner nods, though most of his attention is on his task. “Soup should be okay.”

His tone apologetic, Rogers says to Tony, “Guess we have to postpone those dinner plans again.” 

Tony shakes his head and dismisses the idea of rescheduling with a wave. “Why bother. It’s tradition now, no use fighting it. It’s all because of that shawarma.”

“It was good shawarma,” Romanoff says.

Banner is done and making notes on his tablet. Barton blinks a few times to clear his watering eyes, and says, “Well since I was the one who had a science lab collapse on him,” and Tony groans because he knows what’s coming next, “I say we get take out from the pho place down the street from the Tower.”

Tony feigns ignorance. “Which one is that?”

“You know which one it is.”

Rogers says, “He means the one that gives out the cream puffs,” and Tony isn’t convinced Rogers is as innocent as he looks and sounds. He’s sure there’s a gleam in his eyes.

Banner is already taking out his phone. He gives Barton an unflinching look and points at him. “No Sriracha or Thai chilis in yours.” Barton makes a face at him but doesn’t argue, and Banner starts swiping through his contact list.

Tony glares at Rogers and Banner and informs everyone, “The one next to Café Flora is vastly superior.”

Barton snorts. “Tough shit. Next time you take a nap under ten tons of concrete, you can pick.”

“Can I suggest we reduce the injury level required to be the one who decides?” Romanoff says, arching an eyebrow. 

Tony folds his arms. “We could move it back to lacerations and severe bruising.”

“If we base it on injuries received that means Thor almost never gets to,” Rogers says, but Thor shakes his head.

“I have yet to try any fare on Midgard which did not meet with my approval. I am sure I will find all of your choices tolerable, if not enjoyable.” After a pause, he adds, “Though I too prefer the soup from the establishment which provides these desserts.”

Tony squints at Thor. “Traitor,” he says, and Thor’s answering smile promises future epicurean betrayal.

Banner says something in Vietnamese into his phone, then waves his free hand at them to get their attention. 

“Okay. What are we ordering?”


End file.
